Rude. Hospital.

Day after day every day.

Six sugars, three creams

Drinks his coffee the same way

He sits and doodles and schemes.

Then he stands at 9 on the dot.

He grabs his coffee and pad.

He’s out the door by 9:01

Curiosity struck me bad.

“What if he left at 9:02, not one?”

“I could block him,” I thought.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He’s late a few minutes, five or ten.”

“It was worse than that.

He wasn’t late; didn’t slow at all.

But here I am. In the hospital.”

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